Painter of the Wind: Butterflies and Flowers
by immo
Summary: KDrama - Painter of the Wind - Shin Yoon Bok / Jeong Hyang centric. Drabbles based on the show 'Painter of the Wind' and I might use a bit of creativity to spice some things up!
1. Butterflies and Flowers

**Butterflies and Flowers**

**A "Painter of the Wind" fanfic**

**immo**

**author's note:** Been keeping myself busy watching Asian dramas. This fanfic is based off the Korean drama "Painter of the Wind" also called "Wind's Flower Garden" or "Garden of the Wind". I like the title "Painter of the Wind" better. :P So yeah, pretty good show for the girlxgirl action :D So I finished it up and decided that I was inspired to write a couple of snippets on in! I'm sorry to everyone who's been waiting for 'The Twelve', but it seems like I've hit a writer's block and I'm trying to work out the story in my head... but anyways, here's the fic! The main couple is Shin Yoon Bok, a girl disguised as a boy painter; and a 'kisaeng' (entertainer, basically slave class) named Jeong Hyang.

Seriously, google the series and watch it on the viikii website. Its subbed in English and it's free. The interaction between the two actresses playing the roles of Shin Yoon Bok and Jeong Hyang is PRICELESS.

---

The painter's heart raced as she hid, praying that the men hadn't seen her run in to the small shop she had chosen as a temporary hiding place. Crouched low, she peeked out, watching them race by, intent on finding her.

'It was just a picture!' Shin Yoon Bok leaned back, gulping in air, feeling her lungs burning from the unexpected exercise. The girl in disguise was flabbergasted. Sure, she drew the picture without asking, but--

"Do you mind standing up now?"

Shin Yoon Bok looked down when she felt someone trying to pull something out from under her foot, a pretty piece of green cloth, and craned her head up to stare up at the most beautiful thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

'The kisaeng from the bridge!' Yoon Bok immediately recognized her. How could one forget? Yoon Bok gaped for just a few seconds before springing up to her feet and successfully beaning herself in the head with a low-hanging lamp. Something had flared inside the painter when she had watched the woman cross the bridge, at the end of her procession. The breeze that had been so pleasant in the warm afternoon was made even more so when it was playing in the folds of this particular kisaeng's clothes and engaging the silk entwined in the beautiful woman's hat, in a leisurely, lazy dance.

Rubbing her head in a daze, Yoon Bok's eyes naturally fell to the ground, catching on the hem of this kisaeng's skirt. They worked their way up, drinking in the bold rouge-violet of the other woman's dress, moving up to the contrasting white band across her middle and the top of her rich yellow jeogori shirt. When Yoon Bok's eyes strayed to this woman's face, her heart clenched in her chest at the perfection. In the back of her mind, the painter was aware that she had not seen the whole world, had not ventured too far from her school of ink and paper. She was still young, and there was so much more to see out there.

But in that moment, Yoon Bok was certain that nothing she had ever seen before or will see later, whether flower, fauna, animal or person; could ever surpass this woman.

Yoon Bok flushed and looked away when the kisaeng's eyes raised from the fabric she had been looking at and gave the painter a slow, careful look. Letting out an unsteady breath, Yoon Bok looked up again to see the woman walking away from her, using a delicately tapered hand to move aside a silk screen, before letting it fall. The physical removal of the woman, if only by a flimsy silk partition, let Yoon Bok take another unsteady breath.

This kisaeng had the power to take her breath away.

It seemed like all Yoon Bok's senses had kicked into overdrive and struggled to perform at their height to fully take in what had been in front of her. The kisaeng was a ghost. She smelled faintly of beautiful and sweet-smelling flowers, but Yoon Bok could only catch a very small wisp of that scent. The way this beautiful woman carried herself was at once graceful and proud, each step measured and thoughtful so each movement was perfect. It was like a dance that she was effortlessly and unconsciously performing. This was one of the few times in her life, that she came up blank who she envisioned this woman on paper. Yoon Bok could not see this graceful figure coming out of her brush, could not envision being able to.

This kisaeng was intoxicating.

And Yoon Bok followed her with her eyes, glimpsing unobstructed views of her between the partitioning silk, a game that stirred the painter to move closer for a better look. Brushing the seperating silken material aside, the painter ducked her head a bit, enjoying this game of hide-and-seek but finally pushing the piece of cloth aside.

"I followed the scent. There is indeed a flower." Yoon Bok said, schooling her voice to be more masculine, more sure. Yoon Bok was naturally very manly already, from being surrounded by and raised amongst men and schooled in manly things. But, for once, the painter consciously tried to be more of a man, more attractive to this entertainer. Her brother, Young Bok, would be horrified at her straight-forwardness. But Yoon Bok had never been one to shy away from beautiful things due to propriety. And she was so attracted, even though she was very well aware that she shouldn't be.

"What kind of butterfly tramples on a flower?" The casually brusque tone did not put the young painter off, instead, made her smirk, delighted at the wit she saw underneath that indifferent exterior.

"It's natural for a butterfly to sit on a beautiful flower," Yoon Bok retorted and felt a small thrill when she saw the corner of the kisaeng's mouth pull up slightly.

The beauty turned away from her, almost as if remembering that she was supposed to be cold towards this stranger. "The flower is not for anyone to sit on."

Yoon Bok let out a small laugh and a smirk, moving closer as the kisaeng turned away from her, emboldened by the entertainer's participation in this flirting wordplay. "Where are there flowers that don't like butterflies--"

Yoon Bok glanced out the window, trying to look cool, but immediately panicked and ducked when she spotted the men that were looking for her pass too close for comfort and stop outside her window to regroup.

"Where has he gone?!" The voices shouted at each other.

The kisaeng was looking at her and even though Yoon Bok knew she looked pathetic, she didn't want to get in trouble.

"Please don't tell them," Yoon Bok looked up at the kisaeng pleadingly, begging and frantically trying to signal the woman. "Don't tell them!"

Now, a genuine smile crossed the kisaeng's face and the way she held back a giggle made Yoon Bok suddenly feel light-headed. But panic set in again when Yoon Bok saw the woman look out the window and start to raise her hand, as if ready to signal someone. Acting on instinct, Yoon Bok grabbed the entertainer's sleeve, pulling her hand back down.

"Come on, please don't do it." Yoon Bok begged again, feeling humiliated, her bravado dashed to the ground.

"Excuse meee," Even at a time like this, Yoon Bok could appreciate that mischievous, playful smile. It even made her heart skip a few beats... but that could be because the kisaeng was calling out to her pursuers in a sing-song voice. The voice was as beautiful as the person but Yoon Bok didn't have time to appreciate that fact now! "Over here! Excuse me, look over here--"

"Are you crazy?!" Yoon Bok threw herself at the kisaeng, pushing her away from view, than ducked back down, glancing around nervously hoping she wasn't cornered--

No-one. Well, there were people, but the men that were chasing her were gone.

"Ah!" Yoon Bok turned to look at the kisaeng who had turned away again and was examining the fabrics in the shop as if nothing had happened. The hammering of her own heart filled Yoon Bok's ears and the relief was quickly being overwhelmed by the embarassment she felt. That was just malicious! She had been--and then---that kisaeng--made a fool of!

"Full of thorns," Yoon Bok accused the kisaeng, feeling doubly angry. "You're not a flower at all, but poison!"

Angry and mortified, Yoon Bok stormed out of the fabric shop, knowing that she was being childish but not caring at all. She hoped she would never cross paths with that--that--thorny flower ever again!

---

**end note:** Like it, hate it? Whatever, drop me a line, I love hearing from you guys and girls :D


	2. Painter of the Wind: Drink and Song

**Drink and Song**

**A "Painter of the Wind" fanfic**

**immo**

**author's note:** inspired! So that's why a new one's out so soon! :D

---

She looked at her hand, feeling like the world was ending, feeling a deep sense of anguish over the thought of losing her ability to draw the next day, and also the thought of WHY she would lose her hand.

'Obscene?' Yoon Bok stumbled, hot and cold at the same time, still reeling from the news. 'My work is... obscene? It was just a painting! It captured the longing of a woman for her man! Is that obscene?'

As a woman entrenched in a man's world, Yoon Bok was constantly frustrated with this secret love affair the men had with the women. Men loved women. They were, frankly, obsessed with them. Men watched them from the wine houses, spent ridiculous amounts of money at gibangs on kisaengs, fought over them, committed crimes because of them, killed for them, died for them... yet, a picture was obscene? A picture that showed the depth of feeling, of longing. A picture of a woman with her head bowed and wishing fervently for her man? The picture was just the truth. What was obscene about what the eye saw? What was wrong with a woman's feelings?

The one thing she had left of her father's, was her craft. Her mother and father had given her the tools to create... and tomorrow, she would lose one of the most vital ones. Her right hand. What use were her sharp eyes when the hand could no longer draw? The tools were all connected. Lose one, and lose all. She remembered her father with a pained smile and how he had, one night, lit a candle and used his hands to bring a butterfly to life. Thrust brush and paper to her and let her draw to her heart's content.

Yoon Bok's head swam with sharp and painful memories deep in the past. Even the memory of Danwon flitted through her mind, holding her brush with her and teaching her how to draw a tree... She didn't want to go back to Dohwaseo. Her brother, Young Bok would know immediately something was wrong. Young Bok was too perceptive and Yoon Bok was too transparent. Since they were young, she had never been a good liar and too honest for her own good. That was why she was always getting in to trouble and did not get along very well with everyone.

"Why are you just standing in the middle of the road like that?" A man gruffly asked her, pushing by. Yoon Bok looked up at the well-lit sprawling building, blinking owlishly.

"Oho, young sir!" A kisaeng tittered, spotting her. Yoon Bok was reminded of the prickly flower from the cloth shop. This one oozed a cheap friendliness, easily bought with a few nyang. Yoon Bok blinked, slowly being brought to reality as the pungent smell of a perfume shocked her back to the present. The kisaeng that had hailed her was now was pressed against her side, arm hooked companionably into her own.

"My, such handsome gentlemen grace us tonight!" The kisaeng tugged Yoon Bok in the direction of the gibang, where the sounds of guests and the women entertaining them filled the air with noise. "Come, quickly! Everybody's waiting for you!"

"Everybody?" Yoon Bok let herself be lead. She had nowhere else to go tonight. It might as well be here. "Who's everybody?"

"Why, your handsome friends!" The kisaeng tut-tutted. "Young lords, you've paid so much tonight, Jeong Hyang will be coming soon!"

They passed rooms full of men drinking and talking too loudly, and the women on their arms laughing too loudly. The aroma of wine and shochu was thick in the air, mixed with the heady scent of various perfumes of these working women. Stumbling past these rooms, she was finally thrust into one where familiar faces looked up at her.

"And who do we have here?" Jang Hyowon sneered at her from the head of the table. Dimly, Shin Yoon Bok remembered it was his birthday and he had invited all his classmates for the celebration at this gibang. "A yearning teacher? A painting is yearning?"

'Still sore about the afternoon?' Yoon Bok just stood there and let Jang Hyowon make fun of her. Since they've known each other, they've clashed numerous times. Hyowon always wanted to be number one. And for some reason, he always saw the slim, girly Yoon Bok as competition. Tonight, Yoon Bok didn't want to fight, so she let the barbed words wash over over.

Jang Hyowon's right hand man pointed at her accusingly, noticing that she brought no gifts. "You came with empty hands?"

"My heart came," Yoon Bok retorted. "Isn't that enough?"

"Your heart came, hm?" Jang Hyowon stared at her challengingly as she sat down at the end of the table, facing him. With a motion of his head, someone to the right of Yoon Bok emptied the brushholder they had with them and two of her classmates filled this makeshift cup to the brim. A regular wine cup was about the size of her thumb. The brushholder was almost the length of Yoon Bok's forearm.

"Drink it!" Jang Hyowon tilted his head back, eyes gleaming maliciously. "I want to see this heart you bring!"

"Can you drink with that womanly form of yours, little boy? Are you gonna cry?" The man beside Hyowon teased, going along with his friend's bullying. "Call your brother! Hyung Nim! Hyung Nim!"

The room burst into laughter as they all watched her sitting there, staring at the brushholder-turned-cup. Grabbing her drink, she stood up, affectively silencing them as they stared at her in shock. She hadn't wanted to butt heads, but Jang Hyowon always needed to be taken down a couple of pegs.

"This is nothing." She cast her eyes around the room. "You think I'm afraid to drink it?"

Tipping her head back, she drank in huge gulps, knowing that they were all watching her. She ignored the liquid searing down her throat and lighting a fire in her belly, drinking until she knew there was no more. Kneeling back down to the ground, she held the brushholder upside down, showing them that she had drank it all, then slammed the brushholder down on to the table.

"Hmph." Jang Hyowon was slightly impressed. And to run off the young slim man who had met Hyowon's challenge would make him seem extremely petty. "Well then, I see your heart's in the right place. Stay for a bit if you want."

"Come, come, Yoon Bok." Some of her friendlier classmates motioned her towards them as the noise resumed in the room and Jang Hyowon chose to ignore Yoon Bok. "Come drink with us!"

---

Jeong Hyang bowed low to the young men, schooling her face into an impassive mask. Skilled at doing so.

"Aigooo... beautiful!" A young man sitting on the right side, closest to the head of the table pronounced. "Beautiful!"

Jeong Hyang didn't acknowledge the praise. Her skin crawled at this man's voice, so very like so many before. They said beautiful, but that same tone and affection was also used on things like horses, dogs, houses and paintings.

"You are Jeong Hyang?" By the tone of this man's voice and where he sat, Jeong Hyang immediately recognized him as the leader of the group.

"Yes," Jeong Hyang bowed again, knowing she had to keep these guests relatively happy. "I am Jeong Hyang."

"You are really beautiful," The heavier-set man sitting to the left of the head was trying not to drool as he oogled Jeong Hyang openly, only to be slapped on the arm by the kisaeng already accompanying him.

Jeong Hyang's maid handed her her gayageum, but before she had even settled the instrument in her lap, she was interrupted.

"That will be fine." The leader of this motley crew leered at her, leaning forward a bit and slapped his thigh. His horsehair hat high on his head, his robes were still pristine though his friends' were in disarray. "Come and sit here."

A cock on top of a dung heap. But this young man paid for her services tonight. Perhaps he was a little slow and did not know what kind of entertainment she provided?

Giving the young man a quick tight smile that faded all too quickly, Jeong Hyang lowered her eyes to the ground and informed him. "I am a gayageum player, sir. I am not a prostitute."

The silence that followed was deeply satisfying. These Yanbans needed to be reminded that even though she was low in their eyes, she would not be made low. Jeong Hyang was a 'guem gi', a kisaeng who was skilled in the gayageum. That was how she entertained her guests. Through her art.

"You are still full of thorns." That pleasant alto voice, slightly slurred, broke the silence. Jeong Hyang raised her head slowly and spied the young man from the market, glancing at her sideways. He was not in his student-painter clothes today, but in sombre robes that were slightly ruffled and a noble hat that was comically askew on his head. Though he spoke rudely, this young man seemed to look at her and really see her. And the game they had played before was very pleasant, his face, screwed up in a pleading look was still fresh in her mind.

So why not continue the game?

"The more beautiful the flower is, the more thorns it has." Jeong Hyang replied, pleased with her own reply. The young painter blew out a small laugh.

"I've never seen a flower calling itself beautiful." His soft smirk drove into her, and Jeong Hyang just had to smile. The image was amusing. A thorny flower calling itself beautiful? Ridiculous.

"Even if it says so itself, a beautiful flower is still beautiful."

He acknowledged her point carefully, swaying slowly in his drunkeness but showing an interest in what Jeong Hyang's next answer would be even though he appeared to be talking to his jar of wine. "If nobody sees the beautiful flower, what's the use?"

Jeong Hyang briefly pondered this question, noting the underlying depth of it. The painter was testing her.

"A flower is just a flower." Jeong Hyang replied. "Saying whether it's beautiful or ugly is just a passing figure of measurement."

And finally, the painter looked up from his wine and faced her. His eyes were still sharp and the look he gave Jeong was one of admiration, as one would regard an equal. Why did this young painter look at her like that?

Before Jeong Hyang could dissect this confounding man further, he had gone back to staring at his wine jar.

"What is this?" The man to the right of the leader looked from the young painter, back to Jeong Hyang. "Do you know each other already?"

"What are you doing?" Another young man who seemed drunker than the rest, slurred. He had trouble concentrating on Jeong Hyang and kept blinking irritably, like he was fighting off sleep. "Just start playing!"

With that, the drunk threw his cup at Jeong Hyang and thankfully, it missed the musician. Unfortunately, it hit the zither instrument across its strings. Not only did the impact of the cup snap one of the strings of Jeong Hyang's gayageum, but the contents of the cup splashed her violet jeogori shirt.

"You wretched brat!" The man at the head of the table shouted. "What are you doing?!"

As Jeong Hyang wiped away the droplets of clear wine from her face, she could hear someone slapping that man and rebuking him. The worse thing about entertaining guests was that some times they might have had a bit too much to drink. The painter just stared at her, smooth brows suddenly furrowed with worry. But he said nothing and let Jeong Hyang collect herself.

"Are you okay? He is dead drunk. He behaved rudely." The prim young man at the head of the table explained, in ways of apology.

Jeong Hyang kept a polite, vacant smile on her face. "It's already happened. There's no use crying over spilt milk."

The young man smiled and nodded, as if she had said the correct thing. Then a sly smile pulled up one corner of his mouth.

"A string snapped. Since the gayageum can't be played, why don't you put it aside and come over here to have a drink with me?" The 'request' was more of a command than a real request. This young man wasn't used to people saying no to him.

"Ah," The young rooster said absentmindedly, as if just remembering. "I'm the head of the pupils, Jang Hyowon."

Jeong Hyang didn't even bother to give a reply to his request or react to the blatant flaunting of his position. She wanted to play, then she wanted to leave. Even the amusement the young painter provided her didn't pursuade her to stay longer than their alotted time with her.

"The music tune is," Jeong Hyang could see the self-assured smile fall from Jang Hyowon's face. "Dong Chon Nion Lo, Han Jang."

Raising her hand gracefully in the air, she stroked down gently on the strings, relishing the sounds that poured from this simple wood and string instrument. Focusing on her music, she could block out everything else, go to a place where she was not a kisaeng who played the gayageum, but just a gayageum player. She could be somewhere other than in a gibang, entertaining men at all hours of the day and night. She could escape.

A break in her music and Jeong Hyang looked up and met the eyes of the young painter, who watched her intently, body facing her. No drink in his hands, he listened attentively, eyes bright with the music as if it were a physical thing and he could see it. When the painter closed his eyes and the stress left his face, she could feel her heart suddenly do a little hop in her chest. And as Jeong Hyang played, she sneaked peeks at him and watched his face being transformed by the softest of smiles that did nothing except make his face even kinder and gentler than it already was. And when the last note quavered in the air, Jeong Hyang could feel the walls she put up to keep out the world, crumble a little bit at his wet eyes and the grateful smile on the painter's face.

Jeong Hyang was frozen in that look and could not do anything except return that gratefulness with a smile of her own. Someone had listened and appreciated her. Those people were far and few in between. And fewer still, those who have been transported with her away from the present, by her music. They had occupied the same space and time and left everyone behind. Their eyes, still locked, maintained that illusion, and there was nothing but that last quivering note in the air.

"What are you all doing?" Jang Hyowon's voice shattered the solitude the painter and Jeong Hyang had been sharing, bringing everyone and everything back into sharp relief. Jeong Hyang was a guem gi again. The painter turned his head away from her to give his attention to the head of the pupils. "Clap your hands!"

The applause was boisterous, and she would have smiled politely to receive it if she hadn't been so shocked. The young painter had wormed his way past her shields. She couldn't help but duck her head when he passed by in front of her, on the way out the door. And couldn't help following his movements out of the corners of her eyes so she caught him turning back to look at her and quickly raised her eyes meet his.

"Your performance was excellent." He said simply. But his words were heartfelt.

Only then did Jeong Hyang smile. She could feel herself flush, just like when she had been a young girl, a novice at the gayageum, and had just received praise for the first time.

---

**endnote:** how you like dem apples?


	3. Painter of the Wind: 5 Nyang

**5 Nyang**

**A "Painter of the Wind" fanfiction**

**immo**

**author's note:** If only I had this kinda inspiration drive for 'The Twelve' :(

---

She would surely die.

Shin Yoon Bok looked up at the moon and knew that if they crushed her hand, if they crushed her ability to paint, she would die. She would no longer be able to paint. Her one constant in life, taken from her.

Giggling drunkenly, Shin Yoon Bok held up her hand, closed one eye and tried to make it seem like she was holding the moon in her hands. She remembered... though it was so long ago, how her real father had done this with her and her mother. They had all tried to catch the moon. And when her mother had caught the moon, Yoon Bok had pretended to take it from her mother and eat it.

'I'll never paint again after tonight.' Shin Yoon Bok looked at her hand and clenched it into a fist. This was the last time she would be complete. What could she do for the rest of the night?

'Jeong Hyang.' Yoon Bok's thoughts turned to the surprise of the night. The beautiful woman from the cloth shop had shown up and thrown her for a loop. Perhaps it was the amount of alcohol Shin Yoon Bok had drank that night, but the gayageum player had looked more beautiful than ever.

'I thought she was perfect before, so how could perfection improve on perfection?' Yoon Bok mused, knowing she probably wasn't making any sense, but not caring.

When Jeong Hyang had entered the room, Yoon Bok caught that scent of flowers that clung to her, fresh and clean. It wasn't cloying like the expensive perfume the kisaeng's around her had, but soothing and subtle. Jeong Hyang had been as biting as ever, perfect in her soft-spoken but razor-sharp rejections to Jang Hyowon's attempts to get her to sit next to him. Her wit continued to surprise Yoon Bok, when she continued their conversation about flowers from before.

'Even if it says so itself, a beautiful flower is still beautiful.'

Indeed, she was a most beautiful flower, with thorns that probably could match and defeat a tiger's. Her poison was addictive. Yoon Bok wondered now, if she had suffered a fatal dose for she just could not get Jeong Hyang out of her mind. And the way she had played so beautifully on the gayageum... if it were not for his classmates, Yoon Bok would have wept. As the painter had grown older, her father and mother's faces had slowly begun to fade at the edges, like a beautiful painting taken out and handled too many times. She had tried her best to keep their memories fresh, but... it had been so long ago...

Jeong Hyang's music had taken her back, though. She had listened and heard, had felt the floor she sat on disappear and be replaced by a soft carpet of long grass... and she had seen her mother and father. Laughing, dancing... she had been carried on her father's shoulder, delighted at the sounds that came from his whistle made of a simple blade of grass. They had not seen her, but she had seen them. And their faces stood out in stark relief. Her mother's and her father's face, kind and gentle. Every line, every laugh mark, remembered again. Then, she had seen Jeong Hyang, sitting across from her in that same field, watching her.

Shin Yoon Bok could see Jeong Hyang clearly in her mind's eye, and lifted up her hand to hesitantly sketch her figure, her face, in the air.

This was what Yoon Bok wanted to do, while she was still able to.

Yoon Bok lowered her hand, something tugging her line of sight back to entrance of the gibang. Jeong Hyang would come out. She didn't know how, but she knew the geum gi was slowly making her way towards the exit. It was probably the wine, but Yoon Bok could feel this bond had forged between them when they had sat in a full room full of drunken men and tittering kisaengs, yet connected so deeply that they had felt that they were the only two in the world.

Yoon Bok was certain Jeong Hyang had felt it too.

And most likely it was coincidence, but within a few seconds of that strange feeling, the figure of Jeong Hyang and her servant-girl exited the gibang. Daintily holding up her skirt and walking with a slow grace, Jeong Hyang cut a beautiful figure with the light from the torches giving her a sort of halo.

Stumbling up to her feet, the drunk painter walked slowly over to intercept them.

---

He stood in front of them, blocking their way. Mi Nyun, the girl who attended to Jeong Hyang, took a step back. She had always been very timid and was bullied by other girls, that's why Jeong Hyang had taken the young girl under her wing. But sometimes, her timidness could be exasperating, especially at a time when Jeong Hyang needed her to be the buffer between herself and this young man who had managed to catch a glimpse of Jeong Hyang underneath her mask.

"Ask him what he wants." Jeong Hyang turned away, deliberately brusque as her heart hammered in her chest. He was too close. And in the cold night, she seemed to be able to feel the heat from his body.

"My mistress wants to know what you want." Mi Nyun gathered herself bravely to confront the artist.

"Could I ask for one more tune?" His voice was still heavy with wine, and he thrust his hand forward abruptly, swaying at his own movement. Mi Nyun gasped and took a step back again, frightened by the sudden movement, then looked back at her mistress for help.

"What is it?" Jeong Hyang questioned.

Mi Nyun took a glance and reported her findings. "It's five nyang."

"Five nyang?" Jeong Hyang sniffed haughtily, hoping he would leave because she wanted him to stay. "Ask him 'Was my tune worth just five nyang'?"

"Just five nyang--"

"This is everything I have." The painter tried again, tilting his head a bit so he could look past the maid at Jeong Hyang.

Though his reply was clever, Jeong Hyang knew she could not play this game. It was too dangerous and the both of them had too much to lose. "Convey to him that I am not interested in his situation."

With that said, she held her head high and walked away from the young man who had so unsettled her.

Or she tried to, anyways.  
As she passed him, his hand darted out to grab her wrist and swing her back around to face him. His touch on her wrist, even though they had no skin-to-skin contact, burned her through and through. Jeong Hyang had been touched by men before, rough men who had too much to drink while she entertained them, and she had always pulled away and reminded them of who she was. Their touch only managed to bring up the feeling of revulsion in her. But this touch brought her to life. It was as if she had been shut in a dark room for her whole life and suddenly, the sun had broken down her walls and her senses were bombarded by everything. The heat of his hands was unbearable, the sleeves on her arms had become unbearably heavy.

"Where are your manners?" Jeong Hyang managed to muster up as much indignation as she could while trying to ignore her heart's pounding.

"This hand will be cut tomorrow." The painter said plainly. He let go of her wrist and showed Jeong Hyang his hand. It was small, but slim and beautiful. An artist's hands. His face... was painful to look at. The distress that he was feeling, the anger, the frustration... the fear. She felt it rolling off of him. Jeong Hyang felt her heart clench in sympathy.

"This five nyang is the money earned from selling the last picture drawn by this hand." The painter let out a breath he had been holding. "I want to spend my last day with this. With the sound of your gayageum."

---

**endnote:** woo! I love Shin Yoon Bok and Jeong Hyang!


	4. Painter of the Wind: Dreams

Dreams

A "Painter of the Wind" fanfiction

immo

author's note: A trip to Beijing can really take time away from writing :D But I'm back and this chapter is longer than the other ones! So without further ado, here's another installation of this... thing. Yup. I don't make sense and I'm not thinking at all cuz I'm tired and its late, so sue me.

---

Jeong Hyang had played for the painter until she was exhausted. Now she put her gayageum aside and sat back, fanning herself. The chill night air did nothing to cool her body as she looked at the painter, sprawled amidst ink and papers, watching her. The kisaeng offered the young man one of her rare smiles and he returned it with a tremulous, small smile that spoke of deepest gratitude. Sweat beaded his forehead and a stray tear that he probably didn't even know he was shedding, rolled down the side of his head.

Of course, looking back, Jeong Hyang could not have refused him when he had pleaded his case with so much emotion. She had turned away from him to slide that mask back into place, then spoke to her maid.

"Tell our young Hwagong to follow." Jeong Hyang started back towards the gibang, hearing her maid relaying the information and knowing that he would be stumbling along behind her like a sleepy puppy. Her maid had hurried after, finally falling into step close behind Jeong Hyang.

"My lady!" Mi Nyun hissed.

"Hm?"

"Is it appropriate," Mi Nyun chose her words carefully. "To let a man into your room at night?"

"I've entertained men until sunrise, before." Jeong Hyang raised an eyebrow, deliberately misunderstanding her maid.

"But that was men with the other kisaengs, he is ONE man!" Mi Nyun protested. "And it is your room! You don't let people in there! And a man has-has, a man has... needs!"

Jeong Hyang gave her maid an amused look, then looked forward again. "Our young Hwagong is barely a man. He's drunk and will probably fall asleep after the first song. And I will not be swayed on this issue. He is a paying guest."

"Five nyang!" Mi Nyun pointed out.

Jeong Hyang smiled. "And that was all his fortune. Who else is willing to pay everything they have for just music from me?"

"He had little, so he had very little to lose." Mi Nyun grumbled, clutching Jeong Hyang's zither instrument close to her chest. Finally arriving at the entrance to her room, Jeong Hyang pushed the doors open and entered, followed by the painter, who looked around the space with a little bit of wonder.

"Hwagong, please sit. I will prepare myself." The painter blinked owlishly, then walked slowly to the other side of the small table in the middle of the room and managed to sit down without any mishaps. His eyes were on her now, unwavering.

"Mi Nyun. Go fetch Hwagong some more wine."

"My lady--" Mi Nyun opened her mouth to protest but was silenced quickly by a slight wave of Jeong Hyang's hand. Her lady was being stubborn and there was no changing her mind when she was like this. "Yes, ma'am."

As the doors closed silently behind them, the painter tilted his head to the side and looked at her with an amused, sad smile. The maid's glare and the scandalized look on her face wasn't lost on the young man, even though he was drunk.

"I never thought you would say yes."

Jeong Hyang shot back, "Then why did you ask?"

"Because you're worth the effort, the fight." The painter shrugged his slender shoulders. "My last night as an artist with you accompanying me... there is nothing better than that in the world."

Jeong Hyang was captivated once again by the pale, slim hands of the painter. She knew what it would be like if he lost his ability to paint. It would be like if Jeong Hyang could not play the gayageum ever again. The thought of her hands, crippled like that, sent a shiver down Jeong Hyang's spine.

"It's unpleasant to think about, so don't." The painter smiled kindly at her and reached out almost absentmindedly to lay his hand on top of the gayageum player's. It was just for a second, but the kisaeng could feel that the painter's hand was as cold as ice.

"I'm afraid." His whisper was so low, that she was barely able to catch it. His voice was thick with emotions, strangled by his fear.

"Then why do you not run away?"

He laughed, the sound was high-pitched, almost like a girl's. "Where would I run to, Jeong Hyang? My whole life is here. What would happen to my father? My brother? They would be disgraced. And I, what kind of... kind of person was I raised to be? A coward?"

"Better a live coward then a dead brave man."

"How much is a live coward worth? How will I be able to face anyone?" The young man questioned. "They say a brave man only dies once but the coward dies a thousand times. Or something like that."

"But either way, you're disgraced. What would you do if you didn't have your hand any more?" Jeong Hyang found herself trying to argue for the young man's survival. She knew, if he were to lose his ability to draw, his life would be over. They might as well kill him.

It was probably only the drinks that he's had that made him so bold, but the painter reached for her sleeve and caught it between his fingers. Looking up at her face, he said his next words earnestly and as seriously as a drunken man could.

"I would listen to you play." He smiled up at her, a foolish smile, his words slurred by drink. He would probably not remember what he was saying later on, but Jeong Hyang would definitely remember. "My first love is painting. You are my second love, my mistress."

"Oh?" Jeong Hyang laughed at this man's easy compliments and his playful 'mistress' comment. The geumgi knew she should be insulted, but he made her... happy. So she played along. "And why should I stay with such an unfaithful man? Why should I be second?"

"You are my only." The painter was drunk. Jeong Hyang had to keep reminding herself this. But he was charming and she was finding it hard to keep fighting against her own feelings. "The only one who could make me unfaithful, the one I would again and again, forsake my first love for. The one who makes my first love interesting and beautiful because you are... you are what art should be..."

He leaned back, watching her lazily. "If I could buy your time forever... I would give you everything I had. And if only for a moment, I would still give everything."

"You are drunk, Hwagong." was all the gayageum player could say.

"They say drink loosens a man's tongue and makes him speak true," Yoon Bok's eyes were sharp, surprisingly sober. "So I am drunk. But everything I say is true."

"You would forget in the morning, anyways. It will be like a dream that you could not quite remember." Jeong Hyang shot back, a little bit angry. Because it was true. A man could say whatever he wanted when he was drunk, but once they were sober, they forgot. Or they said they forgot and the courtly words would disappear behind the derisive tone best suited for a kisaeng. "How many dreams have you forgotten, Hwagong?"

Before he could answer to her accusation, Jeong Hyang's maid was back with a bottle of wine, looking very much as if she had expected to find the young painter accosting her lady. The mixture of relief and disappointment made the young painter laugh lightly, causing the shy Mi Nyun to blush.

"Mi Nyun, you may go rest." To sooth her maid's hurt pride at the young painter's laughter, Jeong Hyang excused the girl and held in her own laughter. Once Mi Nyun had retired, Jeong Hyang placed her fingers against the strings of her gayageum, caressing the responsive instrument lovingly and glanced up to see that Yoon Bok was watching her hands with rapt fascination.

"Whenever you're ready, my lady." The painter teased a smile from Jeong Hyang's lips, as the beautiful kisaeng started to play. She could feel his eyes traveling over her body. She cast glances at him now and then, and he acknowledged all of those looks with his shy, pink smiles.

'Don't give up,' Jeong Hyang wished fervently, trying to convey her feelings in her music. She instilled as much life as she could, as much of her feelings as she could, into her music. She wanted him to cheer up, even though she knew he would not run away. Jeong Hyang wanted this young man to forget, just for a while, his plight. Jeong Hyang wanted to sooth away his worries and was glad when he reached over lazily, dipping into his brush holder and withdrawing a brush. Though the movement was slow and careful, the kisaeng could see that he had heard her music. With a flourish, he pulled a sheet of paper out and started taking out his inks. Slowly at first, unconsciously following the rythym of her music. Then Jeong Hyang sped up, her hands dancing across the strings of her gayageum and his brush's strokes grew quick and bold, fast and excited.

The papers filled with drawings, the ones at the beginning were rushed and ugly with nothing but blobs of ink, colours and indiscernable shapes. Slowly, but surely though, the coloured mess took form and became things that the kisaeng began to recognize. His drawings were taking form, flowers blossoming from the splotches, achingly beautiful.

And now, over and over again, as the mess of ink melted away, the flowers blossomed and molted into sheafs and sheafs of paper, over and over again of a single geumgi with a barely-there smile.

'Is that... me?' Jeong Hyang thought, glancing around at the sheets fluttering around with wonder, finally seeing what was in those first blotches of ink, the hurried strokes, the mess of shapes. In each painting was hidden the shape of a woman and her gayageum.

Jeong Hyang's slowed her hands until her music stopped and pushed her gayageum to the side. She looked over at the young artist fondly, knowing and trying to fight it. But unable to. She was thoroughly done in by this young aloof butterfly who lay there, tears mixing with the sweat on his face.

Suddenly, something occurred to Jeong Hyang. "Why did he say that in advance? I mean, your teacher."

"Teacher?" Shin Yoon Bok took a swig of wine straight from the bottle. "Ah! You mean... teacher 'Danwon'? Huh. There isn't any reason. I made trouble in Dohwaseo. And he saw me selling an obscene picture... He must be angry with me."

The sullen glumness reminded Jeong Hyang of a naughty child, rebuked by their favourite teacher. It was adorable, and Jeong Hyang tried to reason with the artist softly.

"But, the reason he tried to meet you in advance was possibly because..." She paused, watching Yoon Bok and hoping he was listening to her. This was important.

"Possibly...?" He slurred, struggling to follow her line of thought through his drunken haze.

"Possibly because he wanted to protect you." A thrill of hope ran through the kisaeng. Why did she care about this young man's hand? She pushed away the answer from her mind and concentrated on the matter at hand. This was more important, stay focused. The painter blew out a dry laugh.

"Protect me..." The painter repeated the words, as if rolling the thought around in his mind.

Gently, Jeong Hyang continued, "I think your teacher may be your only hope."

"Hope?" He repeated her words again, blinking his eyes blearily. Then he giggled, sounding very girlish indeed, but that did not at all make him any less charming to the geumgi.

"You're so beautiful, Jeong Hyang..." The painter reached out a quavering hand, as if to touch her face... put at the last moment, he pulled back, sitting up straight even though he was swaying from side to side.

"I'm not supposed to." He pronounced sadly.

"No?" Jeong Hyang had wanted to lean against that hand, that seemed so soft. It had been too easy. And then he had taken his hand away and the kisaeng's heart was suddenly aching from the withdrawal.

"No." He shook his head like a wet dog. "I-I'm not... you don't know... I can't touch you."

Jeong Hyang was touched by his chivalry. And hid a smile at his drooping eyes. The young man could take his alcohol well enough, but he was fighting a losing battle against its affects.

"Hwagong, stay the night." Jeong Hyang couldn't believe the words that came out of her own mouth, but once they were out, she was quite sure of what she wanted. She would keep the painter here and keep him safe from the axe tomorrow. They couldn't punish him if she kept him here.

He nodded, in no shape to argue with her and cast around for a place to sleep.

"Here." Jeong Hyang moved so she was next to him and gently pulled him down so that his head rested on her lap. He looked up at her in wonder as Jeong Hyang pulled his abandoned jacket over his body.

"Thank you." He whispered sleepily before closing his eyes, no longer able to fight the weariness he felt. Jeong Hyang smoothed away the frowns from the painter's forehead, stroking his face gently and marveling at how smooth his skin felt and how troubled she felt at his plight.

"Hwagong..." Jeong Hyang whispered, brushing her hands across the sides of his face. She drew her hand back quickly, realizing how inappropriate she was being. What was she doing?

"What have you done to me?"

---

"Ungh." Shin Yoon Bok sat up, the robe that had been covering her slipping off. She winced as pain lanced through her head and the memories of what had happened the night before rushed in and throbbed in her head.

She remembered... painting. Painting the most beautiful flower she had ever seen. And of speaking to this prickly beauty who had looked at her with such a gentle expression.

'Or was I dreaming?' Shin Yoon Bok definitely remembered Jeong Hyang telling her that her teacher may be her only hope. And also of lying in a drunken haze in the kisaeng's lap. The geumgi had been gracious, rude, fiery, angry, kind and compassionate. A mix of all these contradictory things that drew Shin Yoon Bok in like a moth to a flame.

Looking around the room, she realized that she was completely alone. Jeong Hyang was nowhere to be seen.

'What did I do last night?' In her search for Jeong Hyang, Yoon Bok cringed at the sight she beheld. Papers were flung haphazardly everywhere and it looked like a small windstorm had swept through the room. Hurriedly moving about to clean up the mess, she went through her drawings, cringing at some of the shapeless blobs she had put on paper, and sweeping them into a pile to throw away later.

But one had turned out well. Yoon Bok paused and inspected this painting with a fond eye. Even though she herself was the author of this work, her hand hesitated to touch the painting. Carefully, Yoon Bok traced the outline of the woman's face in the picture with a trembling finger, floating just a hair's width away from the paper. There she was. Here was Jeong Hyang. And deep within her chest she felt a painful tugging, a pull that threatened to rip her apart.

Longing.

This was who she longed for, the woman in the picture. She had finally managed to paint something that showed exactly that ache and immortalized her feelings. This picture would move her again and again to this same feeling. Shin Yoon Bok had found in this sharp-witted kisaeng what she was looking for and tried to calm her heart. She had seen many people moved by the pictures the painters at Dohwaseo put on paper. She had painted many of those paintings and sold them to men who delighted in the plain beauty of real life. But she herself had never been so moved by a painting. Not even Danwon's paintings made her feel like this.

'My last painting is of you. This is the perfect end to my painting career.' Yoon Bok did not regret at all this fact. If Jeong Hyang was the last thing she would ever draw again, she would be happy.

Casting around for a brush, Yoon Bok found one buried underneath sheets of paper. She tsked at the fact that the ink had hardened the brush, but a quick dip in water softened the tip. Ink was quickly prepared and Shin Yoon Bok solemnly contemplated what she was going to write.

'My gift to you, Jeong Hyang.' Yoon Bok leaned down, carefully putting brush to paper. Yoon Bok had heard Jeong Hyang's unspoken words, the soothing quality of her music, the feelings the kisaeng had wanted to convey. Yoon Bok understood and was deeply grateful.

'If I could buy your time forever... I would give you everything I had. And if only for a moment, I would still give everything.' Shin Yoon Bok remembered her words from last night and blushed at her own forwardness. But she had meant every word of it. Yoon Bok didn't know she could feel this way about someone and she was scared, but completely amazed by her own feelings and in absolute wonder at how strong they were.

'You would forget in the morning, anyways. It will be like a dream that you could not quite remember.'

Yoon Bok had wanted to touch the kisaeng, last night. And she had boldly touched Jeong Hyang's hand to quell her desire, and caught the geumgi's sleeve between her fingers. More than anything, the painter had wanted to caress this beautiful woman's face, touch her lips, her cheeks... but had known she would have gone too far if she had done it. But at that moment last night, she had been gripped by such a strong desire, that it had been a trial to restrain herself.

The last stroke, a pause to review her words. Satisfied with what she had written, Yoon Bok used the empty wine bottle from last night to hold the painting down. Then, grabbing her scribblings from the night before and her belongings, Shin Yoon Bok left quietly, closing the door behind her.

---

Jeong Hyang had gone to the kitchen with Mi Nyun to help her get breakfast. Though she trusted her maid's eye, the kisaeng wanted to make certain that only the best was chosen for their guest who had been still sleeping when she left him. The women in the kitchen were puzzled to see the most prized kisaeng in the kitchen so early in the morning bustling about them with a grace that seemed very out of place in the hustle of the kitchen area, but they didn't question it. The gayageum player was the most sought-after kisaeng in the whole city. Which meant she was worth a lot. And anybody who helped pay the bills so well was welcome to do whatever they liked. Mi Nyun smiled as her lady fretted over some dishes, her expression not unnoticed by Jeong Hyang.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?" Jeong Hyang raised an eyebrow at her maid, who just shrugged, the small smile still on her face. Jeong Hyang chose to ignore her maid, knowing that the girl was probably teasing her for the extra attention she was showing the painter. Taking a quick glance at the breakfast Jeong Hyang had personally put together for the young painter, the geumgi signalled her maid to take the food and follow her.

The kisaeng wanted to hurry back to her room to see the painter, but she forced herself to take slow, measured steps. When she was in front of her room's door, she composed herself and spoke softly.

"Hwagong, why don't you wake up now and have your breakfast?"

There was no reply. Perhaps the painter was sleeping too deeply? She pushed the door open slowly and felt almost as if she had been punched in the stomach when she saw that the room was empty and clean, the hurricane of papers, inks and brushes gone. The bed made. It was as if Shin Yoon Bok had never been there and last night was just a very vivid dream. Jeong Hyang felt bitterly disappointed, her fast-beating heart stilled to a slow, dull and painful tempo. Where had he gone? Her eyes caught on a piece of paper, a painting, lying underneath the painter's empty wine bottle from last night.

"What happened?" Mi Nyun asked, looking past Jeong Hyang and into the room.

"I don't know either." Jeong Hyang replied softly. Entering the room, she sat down where the painter had been resting the night before and carefully moved the make-shift paperweight off the painting Shin Yoon Bok had left behind. Unfolding the paper, Jeong Hyang examined Yoon Bok's work and one of her rare, real smiles pulled up the corners of her lips.

Shin Yoon Bok had painted exquisitely. The lines were bold, but careful, and the colours centered the painting and drew in the viewer. The figure in the painting was forever caught in that moment, just before her hands coaxed the notes from the gayageum. Jeong Hyang knew what the painter had wanted to convey, could see and hear his words as if he was right in front of her. Didn't need these words that were written so elegantly on the side of the painting, but these words, nonetheless, made her heart race again.

_Even if the bird's feathers are plucked, the bird doesn't stop flying._

_Even if the string snapped, the tune never stops._

_Even if I wake up, the dream never goes away._

'If I could buy your time forever... I would give you everything I had. And if only for a moment, I would still give everything.'

The bitterness in Jeong Hyang's throat dissolved into something warm and enveloped her completely.

---

**endnote: **Hope all of you like this :D Enjoy!


	5. Painter of the Wind: Help

Help

A "Painter of the Wind" fanfiction

immo

author's note: Went to Korea for a bit and I bought a little fold out screen with a bunch of Hyewon's paintings on it. Hahahha. I realize that I've been writing mostly from Jeong Hyang's point of view, but I think that's fair since there's already an entire show out there that mainly focuses on Shin Yoon Bok cuz she's the main character. What's the name of that show again? I forgot... anyways, don't worry, Yoon Bok will have her time to shine later on. But right now, enjoy!

---

Pain overwhelmed her senses as she clutched her broken and bleeding hand, sobbing in frustration. It was no use. Young Bok had taken the fall for her and been banished from Dohwaseo, relegated to preparing colours and painting buildings for the rest of his life. And it was all her fault. All of this was her fault and everybody had tried to protect her! Her teacher, her father, her brother... they all would have taken the fall for her! And for what? Why? Because of her idle hands?

It was better for her to lose her hand than to drag everybody down with her!

Yoon Bok was feeling disoriented, cold sweat pouring down her face. It was better for everyone if she never drew again! She sat there, blinking rapidly up at the moon, then let her head drop to her arm, feeling light-headed.

She wished... she wished it weren't so. She wished foolishly that her mother was there, holding her in her arms like she did when Yoon Bok was a child. She wished for things to make sense again, for things to be fair. But she knew firsthand how unfair life could be, how the people you loved could be taken away from you or hurt, so easily. And the saddest part of all was that she would never ever be able to help them, save them. In fact, she seemed to bring trouble to her loved ones. Young Bok... her adoptive father... even her father and mother seemed to be cursed.

"Hwagong?" The tentative call brought her out of her thoughts. Slowly, Yoon Bok struggled to turn her leaden head, trying to focus on the person who had called her. At the sight of Jeong Hyang, Yoon Bok's tortured heart gave a little leap, recognizing the beautiful geumgi immediately.

"Hwagong." The slight pull of her lips, that beautiful smile... Yoon Bok wanted to stand up to greet her, but the effort sent her slipping to fall bonelessly to the earth. Within seconds, though, the night sky was filled with Jeong Hyang's white face.

"Hwagong!" Yoon Bok wanted to answer, but her lips felt dry and her vocal chords wouldn't respond to her commands. She wanted to reassure the gayageum player as Jeong Hyang called her name with a tremulous voice and tried to get a response out of her. Yoon Bok's heart clenched with pain at the sight of Jeong Hyang's panicked expression.

'Is she worried about me?' Yoon Bok thought deliriously, taking advantage of their position, the painter boldly swept her eyes slowly from Jeong Hyang's chin to her forehead. Greedily taking in those perfect features, her red lips, her finely arched nose, her soulful eyes and elegeant brows. Yoon Bok's head swam, overwhelmed with how close Jeong Hyang was to her, wondering if she was really unconscious in a ditch somewhere, having a wonderful dream.

"Jeong Hyang," Yoon Bok slurred, speaking to the apparition, for she was convinced the gayageum must be one, "You are beautiful as always."

Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, Yoon Bok gave up her fight to stay awake and let unconsciousness mercifully take her.

---

It had taken just a few coins to get a passing man to gather up the young painter and take him to Jeong Hyang's room. The geumgi had seen the man out, hurried to get a basin of water, a washcloth and bandages; then rushed back to Yoon Bok's side. She quickly cleaned and bandaged the painter's hand as best as she could, then made herself busy trying to cool the young man's face. Through his fevered dreams, Jeong Hyang sat there listening to the painter call out for her brother, felt that deep ache in her chest at seeing the state the painter was in.

Of course, Jeong Hyang had heard about the going-ons at Dohwaseo, a lot of the patrons of this gibang were from there and they talked freely when they drank. Jeong Hyang had to confess that she had actively sought out the gossip out of her deep worry for the young painter. Guiltily, she recalled her huge sense of relief when she heard that the painter's brother had taken the blame and confessed to drawing the paintings.

'Why did I think he would have been happy if his brother had taken the fall instead of him?' Jeong Hyang watched the young man's troubled sleep. How had Yoon Bok managed to surprise her? Perhaps, the geumgi thought, the type of men she was used to made her paint them all with the same brush. She didn't know that there were men OR women out there who wouldn't place themselves before others. The gibang housed too many backstabbers and ambitious snakes and entertained mostly foolish and/or powerful men who wouldn't think twice of stepping on someone's livelihood to make a few more nyangs.

Jeong Hyang's thoughts were interrupted by the door to her room sliding open, then closing behind her maid.

"Where is the pharmacist?" Jeong Hyang asked when she saw no other person with Mak-nyeon. Jeong Hyang was trying to keep the tone of her voice calm, but knew that she was failing.

The frown on her maid's face made her heart sink and the answer filled Jeong Hyang with disappointment.

"He doesn't want to come to the gibang."

"Have you tried other pharmacies?"

"Yes, I went to all of them."

Feeling completely helpless, frustrated with those 'good' men who refused to help those in the gibang, Jeong Hyang turned back to Yoon Bok to place the cool, moist cloth back on the painter's hot forehead. The fevered mumblings of the painter and his grasping hands made it so hard to fight back the tears, but Jeong Hyang did her best, not wanting her maid to see how deep her feelings for the painter had run.

"No, no... please..." Yoon Bok's pleas was breaking Jeong Hyang's heart. To give him a little bit of peace, the geumgi reached out and gently held Yoon Bok's bandaged hand. She didn't know how long she sat there, tending to the painter. Mak-nyeon had gone to sleep, but Jeong Hyang had stayed awake, afraid that if she left Yoon Bok's side he would need her and she wouldn't be around for him.

During the night and through Jeong Hyang's attentive care, Yoon Bok's fever broke and his whimpering cries stopped as he dropped into a deeper sleep. Still, the gayageum player forced herself to stay awake and watchful, only allowing herself to relax a little.

Just as the sky was turning pink, Yoon Bok stirring from his sleep, the soft groan of pain from his lips, woke Jeong Hyang up.

'I fell asleep.' Jeong Hyang leaned forward, worried, hoping that the painter's condition hadn't worsened.

"Jeong Hyang." His voice was rough and gravelly, but it sent a thrill of joy down Jeong Hyang's spine. He was alright!

"Hwagong, why did you do this to yourself?" Jeong Hyang cut straight to the chase. Through his mutterings, the geumgi had surmised that the grevious wound to his hand had been self-afflicted. And even though she had a pretty clear idea of the why, she wanted to hear it from him. Suddenly she was angry, almost furious with the young man for doing this to himself. Furious, but relieved and happy that he seemed better than when she had first found him though his face was drawn in an expression of pain.

After a short pause, Yoon Bok shrugged, her face expressionless. "I don't want to paint anymore."

Jeong Hyang put on a teasing smile, wanting the young man to smile, knowing the turmoil he must be in having heard some of his innermost thoughts during the night. "But painter, what if you change your mind in the future?"

"I won't." He said simply, his hollowed expression drew a few tears from Jeong Hyang's eyes and the young man immediately struggled up to a sitting position, taking one of the geumgi's hands in his good hand.

"Don't cry, please don't cry." He pleaded and gave her a toothy smile. "Like this, see? You look so beautiful when you're smiling, Jeong Hyang."

The words poured out and Jeong Hyang did smile and managed a laugh at Yoon Bok's foolish expression. The geumgi grew serious and took Yoon Bok's injured hand, cradling it gently as if it were a wounded bird.

"Does it hurt?"

Yoon Bok smiled gently at her, his words soothing. "No, it's just a scratch."

The ridiculousness of that lie, coupled with the angry bruising colours of his swollen hand made the two of them laugh quietly. But very soon, Yoon Bok's laughter and smile died.

"My brother. He told them he drew the paintings. And they," Yoon Bok's voice broke here and he coughed to try to hide it. "They had him expelled from Dohwaseo. He'll... he'll never paint again. I told them it was me, I would rather never draw again then have any harm come to my brother. He looks after me, you know? He's... he's always there. He cares for me. They didn't believe me and they punished him for something I did..."

"It'll be alright--"

"How?" Yoon Bok asked hopelessly. "How will it be alright for my brother?"

Jeong Hyang didn't know how to answer, instead looked down at their entwined hands.

"I'm sorry." Yoon Bok's voice made Jeong Hyang look up at the young man again. His honest face made her stomach flutter. "This isn't your problem. And you shouldn't worry yourself over it. I should go--"

"No, please," Jeong Hyang gripped his hand tighter. "Please. You don't have to. And you should rest here for a little bit."

The gayageum player again adopted a teasing smile. "The last time you were here, you didn't even stay for breakfast, Hwagong. Is it that unpleasant to be in my presence?"

"Your presence is MOST welcome." The flush on his boyish cheeks was adorable. "I just don't want to bother you."

"You're no bother." It was time for Jeong Hyang to blush. How had they gone from the coolness and anger of their first meeting in the clothes shop, to now? Both of them blushing as if they were still children.

Finally seeming to realize his hand was still holding tightly on to hers, he quickly withdrew his hand, the loss of the pleasant warmth of his skin was felt acutely by the geumgi.

"I'll go to the kitchen and see if I can get you some breakfast, Hwagong." Jeong Hyang nodded slightly, retreating behind a polite facade and he nodded, doing the same. The intensity of the moment before left them both uncomfortably aware of whatever it was in between them. It wasn't unpleasant, it was just... too much. Too fast.

"Thank you." His voice trailed after her as she left the room. Turning to give him another smile, she carefully closed the door behind her. Breathing out a breath of air she didn't know she had been holding in, she rested her head against the door for a few seconds, gathering her thoughts. She knew what she had to do. With an air of determination about her, she hurried to the kitchen. As soon as she got food for him, she would head over to Dohwaseo with Mak-nyeon.

---

They watched her. Their eyes traveling the length of her body. Jeong Hyang kept her eyes studiously forward and low, watching the ground and not meeting any of the men's eyes.

Jeong Hyang usually kept mostly to herself, avoiding most everybody's company when she didn't have to entertain guests and now she purposely threw herself into a situation that brought all eyes on her. She needed to see Yoon Bok's teacher and none of these men held her interest at all, yet they clambered after her eagerly, curious as to why a woman--a kisaeng--had arrived at this place seeking the eccentric Danwon. She kept Yoon Bok's image clear in her mind's eye, seeing him clumsily using his left hand to pick at the food she had brought, just to appease Jeong Hyang even though the geumgi could tell that the young painter had no appetite. Saw the brave front Yoon Bok had put on to reassure her even though Jeong Hyang could see how swollen and red Yoon Bok's right hand was. And she kept him clear in her mind, blocking out all outside sounds, ignoring the apprentice artists that watched her with unblinking eyes and unkind comments.

When Danwon did come, she heard a flurry of movement from the young men watching her and his rough voice extolling his curiosity and his scorn for her.

But she didn't care, even as Mak-nyeon winced at his tone of voice, deep and baritone. Their audience scurried away at the older man's not so gentle dismissal of them. His heavy steps brought him closer to her until he was right in front of her. Only then did Jeong Hyang bow low, hoping that this gruff man would be able to help her Hwagong.

---

endnote: As always, comments, criticism and whatever else you wanna throw at me are welcome! Well... some things aren't, but whatever! :D Thanks to all of you who sent me a msg or a review, by the way. It helps to know there are still people reading this and its much appreciated :D


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